


Revolutionary

by Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise



Series: Erwin Fics [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Erwin Week, Existential Crisis, Existentialism, Gen, Manga Spoilers, POV Erwin Smith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:18:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise/pseuds/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise
Summary: Under his leadership, the Corps escaped the Beast Titan and the island of Paradi to find a world where humanity thrived. What they discovered defied imagination, inspired hope--then crushed it beneath the fire of hostile Marley soldiers. The revelation that was supposed to bring freedom and a new beginning instead brought death and the destruction of their dreams. The foundation of everything they fought for has been stripped away. Erwin sits alone, separated from the scattered survivors of the Corps. What now?





	

Erwin half-sat on the bell-tower ledge, one leg on the sill and the other on the floor within, back resting against the side of the open arch. Below him twinkled the lights of an enormous foreign city; above, the stars were glittering points. Bats fluttered near the roof, their chittering a mask to the hum of voices and machinery far below. A cool night breeze brushed his face.

There was no freedom here.

The walls back on Paradi had been built as a refuge not from titans, but from themselves. Humanity was the enemy all along.

All the lives he'd led along with promises of freedom, restoration and expanding in peace...

They died for a world that did not and never had existed.

Perhaps it would have been better if the rock that had glanced his side had killed him.

Erwin closed his eyes.

Another breeze gusted past.

That morning had seen them enter the mainland-humans' city. Armed soldiers had stopped them at the gate. They were baffled and hostile, increasingly so as Erwin explained how the Corps had arrived. When the men heard that they were from the Island, they had attempted to apprehend the chain of command. It was a reasonable negotiation request, so Erwin had acquiesced. He, Hanji and Levi had been walked a slight ways away.

The remaining men had opened fire on the Corps.

He and the others had broken free and rushed to the aid of the stunned officers. Those hellish seconds had robbed them of half their members. In the shocked moments after, he was left with the dilemma of their fates.

If they remained in the city they were on the enemy's ground, but there were more places to hide and more faces in which to be lost. Unfortunately, there were also more faces by which to be discovered. Hopefully in the time it took the enemy to mobilize, they might have found friends. In a place as tyrannous as this there must be some kind of resistance movement.

If they fled outside to the flatlands, they'd be gunned down before they had the chance to fight.

“Advance into the city! Separate, shed your notable garments and blend in. Conceal yourselves!”

Enemies had arrived as 3DMG whirred and the surviving Corpsmembers took to the rooftops. Wings of Freedom fluttered to the ground as cloaks were abandoned, flashes of green between the buildings, flashes of gunfire receding, flashes of mournful gazes disappearing as they parted ways.

Their grand ambitions had been stripped back to their basest element: survival. The shining horizons of tomorrow had been shattered by their own kind. At least within the walls they had the promise of a glowing outside to carry them forward; now even that hope had been taken away.

If there was to be a breaking point, it was now.

He blinked, sighed and leaned back against the wall.

What would he do?

He could wait, map the city, attempt to find the scattered Corps. Attempt to locate a resistance. Attempt to escape, or...something. They would be hunted ruthlessly. Perhaps the others would be killed instantly, but as Commander he likely faced torture of the worst degree.

The breeze breathed past again.

Even if the Corps did reassemble, what was it for? Another stab at freedom? His heart pounded and his eyes stung. What had been the purpose of it all?

They had fed themselves on 'the glory of humanity' when humanity's glory was the instrument of their deaths, titans the caricatures of humankind's own mindless urge to devour.

What monsters were these, that appeared as his fellows?

What monsters were they themselves?

Even back home that evil was evident everywhere, from the thefts and murders on the streets to the machinations of the nobility.

Wars.

Bloodshed.

Within and without the walls, the history of humankind was soaked with crimson.

Could life ever be more than a warring hell?

Was there a cure for this broken animal that was mankind?

What capricious force, what twisted sprite, what wretched accident had set their being into motion, and what force would snuff it out?

If only he had died in that charge. At least then, though his dream would not have been realized, he could have died with hope that it would be so for others.

He put his hands to his face.

Heat seared through his chest. No. How could he break now?

He looked out over the city. He would not accept this vicious cruelty. He had fought this far and he would fight further, until this world as it stood came crashing to the ground. His longing for restoration had instead brought the beginning of a revolution. Of course revolution had been tried and failed, but he was bound to try and fail again. He had wanted a world free of titans. Upon finding their origins, was he to stop?

His heartbeat quieted and the surge of determination ebbed.

But after the destruction of the titans...humanity would simply turn back on itself. There would be no third party to distract the hatred of the divided ones. Their basilisk stares would be locked on each other.

Death and cruelty could not be defeated with death and cruelty, and waging war in their manner would only perpetuate the cycle. Any government he established would slide into this same tyranny beneath the onslaught of paranoia and the threat of resistance. Politics would be twisted in the claws of silver-tongued devils, and the bloody wheel would turn again as the next batch of would-be heroes rose in opposition. Revolution after revolution. It was almost funny that the word itself implied a cyclical nature. For what could it do but revolve, revolve, revolve? A new government at the top; an old government at the bottom, conflict spinning like a toy on a string.

Another breeze. A sleeping pigeon cooed, disturbed, and shuffled down to rest again.

What of love, peace, kindness, joy, the things they had been taught as children? How had their childhood teaching become so twisted in adulthood? How, knowing what was 'right', did they follow such a pattern of everything 'wrong'? It was like they were slaves to this nature of war, wretched creatures that dreamed of peace but awoke shackled to a bloody sword.

He exhaled and drew his other leg onto the ledge as well, settled back more comfortably against the arch.

It seemed there was no future but pain and conflict. Things like goodness that looked solid from a distance evaporated under scrutiny. Once he was within the gray void of politics, what was 'good' but relative convenience?

And yet the urge remained to make his actions 'right', to be justified.

Justified. That was the word.

Justified by what? To whom?

If the soul of humanity was war, wherefore came their longing for peace? There must be something more—something higher—something greater. There were glimpses of its beauty in this cruel world, whispers that an alternative life existed, even if beyond the realm of human attainability. And how could he recognize that goodness in a world that was solely evil?

If he could find the source of that higher life he would find the foundation of his purpose, and that purpose would set his course of action.

He dared not lead again until he had made that foundation solid.

How could he define an enemy and draw up a battle plan without knowing what he stood for, and why? How could he fight if he didn't understand what or why he was fighting?

This would be his new goal. He would assume a life among these people and wait, watch, gather his conviction and steel himself to discover a new horizon. He would bide his time until he had found what he sought. Then...then he would plan. Then he would move. Then, if need be, the Corps would rise again, and a new revolution would fall.

 

 


End file.
